The Names Upon the harp
by Anath Tsurugi
Summary: When Thranduil brings Thorin in for questioning, the only answer the king in exile will give him is a list of names. When the elf king demands an explanation from the other dwarves, they give it to him. Thorin is reciting the names of the children who died when the dwarves of Erebor were forced to wander in the Wild.


(A/N) Fill for a prompt over on the kink meme. The original prompt was this…

"when Thranduil is questioning Thorin, the only thing Thorin does is recite a list of names  
when Thranduil finally snaps and demands to know what the list is, one of the other dwarves, Dwalin or Balin, tells him  
it's the names of all the children who died in the wilderness because Thranduil refused to help the dwarves  
not risking the lives of his army to oust a dragon? that would have been understood  
not helping refugees who are suffering and dying as they pass through your territory? that can never be forgiven"

I've been stalled on a lot of my other projects for a couple weeks now, so I decided to venture back to the meme to see if anything inspired me. This seems to have worked. There will definitely be more fairytales in the near future. (tricksy grin)

Warnings: Mental torture, some graphic depictions of violence, and some implied thoughts of suicide. There aren't exactly pairings in this story, but if you know me, then you know that Bilbo and Thorin and Fili and Kili tend to get shippy when I write them, but you can read these incarnations any way you wish. I know what I mean.

**The Names Upon the Harp**

If anything, Thranduil was surprised by how quiet Thorin was being. When Legolas had brought the dwarf king and his companions into their halls, he had done nothing but scream vitriol at the elves. He had raged helplessly as the members of his company were dragged away to be imprisoned…particularly violent when two of the youngest fought tooth and nail not to be separated, screaming death to any who harmed their brother. The guards had informed him the dwarf had shouted to high heaven, pacing his cell all night like a caged animal.

The elf king had expected more of the same when he had Thorin brought to him for questioning, rage and threats…and instead found himself puzzled by the brooding, accusatory silence they now languished in. Thorin simply sat in the chair he was bound to, glaring at Thranduil with eyes that bespoke pain just as much as they did anger.

"Thorin," he began slowly, meeting those piercing eyes. "I will ask you once again. What is your purpose in returning to Erebor?"

For a moment, Thorin continued to stare at him…but when he opened his mouth to speak, it was not the words Thranduil had expected to hear…not at all.

"Nuri…Zevi…Ari…Garin…Zel…Neri…Risling…Bila…"

"What…what are you-"

"Nwalin…Vili…Farin…Nes…Tiri…Therin…Kem…Reni…Valin… "

"I asked you a question, dwarf."

"Shiri…Ravi…Adah…Ebba…Duri…Dara…Galin…Threya…Hadar …Gili…"

"If you're just going to spout your gibberish language at me, we can-"

At the word 'gibberish', Thorin's voice only grew louder, and the pain and anger in his eyes grew sharper. On and on he went, never once letting up.

"Hidassa…Imri…Hila…Kaz…Miri…Nahal…Nava and Nara…Tirin…Ofur…Raiza…"

"Enough!" Thranduil thundered, unnerved by the seemingly meaningless words. "Enough of this foolishness, Thorin. Just what are you trying to do?"

"Lifur…Razi…Timbur…Jhani…Toin…Zavad…Dagmar…Drun…Ge fion…Isli…"

"What are you _saying?_" he demanded, but received no answer. Thorin just stared at him as he continued with his list.

"Gunda…Halle and Kalle…Lis…Sanna…Kesi…Siv…Turi."

Quite suddenly, the stream of words came to an end and Thorin just sat there, silent and staring. Not knowing why he felt so unnerved, Thranduil finally called for the guards.

"Take him back to his cell. We'll see if he's feeling more up to civilized conversation after he's had a few days to cool his head."

As the guards led Thorin from the room, he continued to stare at Thranduil…and the elf king was forced to look away first, unable to bear the gaze.

XxX

Thranduil had no more luck with the rest of the dwarves. They were either sullenly, stubbornly silent or they shouted threats, struggling against their bindings. The two young brothers were the worst. When he'd learned they were Thorin's nephews, he'd had them jailed as far from each other as possible…to punish the king in exile…perhaps loosen his tongue a little. The only purpose it served was to make the two young princes even more violent when they were in with him. There was one night he decided to try and use that against Thorin when he had the youngest in with him…Kili. Thorin's cell wasn't far from the interrogation room and Thranduil knew he would be able to hear.

"So, little prince, do we feel like talking today?" the king began.

The young dwarf quite literally growled at him, eyes narrowed and teeth bared like some wild beast.

"I'll take that as a no. That's unfortunate. If you don't tell me what your uncle's intentions are, I will be forced to kill you…as I did the older one…the one with blond hair," he lied.

The young one's mask of defiant anger immediately melted away at this, replaced by shock, disbelief, horror, pain…

"F-Fili?" he whispered, eyes glistening faintly. Slowly, he shook his head, and for a moment, he seemed to struggle to breathe.

But then the anger returned to his eyes.

The young prince let out a feral scream, throwing himself as hard as he could against his bindings.

"_YOU LIE!_" he shrieked, struggling like a warg against the bonds. "I won't believe it! Where is my brother?! _What have you done to him?!_"

"What I said. When he wouldn't answer, I let one of the guards run him through. It was _not_ a quick death."

The young dwarf gave a long scream of denial at this, struggling so hard that he actually managed to knock the chair over. He was incensed after that, shouting his brother's name as they dragged him from the room. He cried out in agony…as if _he_ were the one who'd been stabbed.

Thranduil followed a few steps after the guards, stopping outside the cell where he knew Thorin sat.

"Do you hear them, Oakenshield? Do you hear how they suffer? It is within your power to stop it."

"I hear them," Thorin's voice came from the darkness beyond the cell bars. "I hear the suffering of my beloved sister-sons, but there is nothing I can do for them. It is not in me to yield to you, elf…you who cannot hear the cries of innocent babes."

"What are you talking about?"

The first sign he had of Thorin was a pair of hands reaching out of the darkness, reaching forward to grasp the bars. He couldn't exactly see Thorin's face in the gloom, but he could certainly hear him.

"Nuri…Zevi…Ari…"

Disgusted and unnerved by the reemergence of the list, Thranduil turned from Thorin, walking away down the corridor with the words stinging at his ears.

XxX

Thranduil tried the same trick with the older brother, his reaction even worse, and Thorin didn't even acknowledge him this time. He simply began to recite the list again, his voice carrying his helpless rage like a blade, the strength of it ready to kill.

The elf king didn't bring any of the other dwarves in for questioning again. He just brought Thorin in time and time again, and as the days passed, the only words to pass his lips were from that infernal list.

"Nuri…Zevi…Ari…" all the way through to "Kesi…Siv…Turi."

After a time, Thranduil began to figure it was a list of names, but just what these names were, he couldn't guess, and Thorin wasn't saying.

Day after day, without fail, all the names, from Nuri to Turi, each syllable imbued with anger and accusation. Finally, when Thranduil could take it no more, he had two of the older dwarves brought in, the two who seemed to be closest to Thorin, the brothers Balin and Dwalin.

The two were brought to the chamber and forced to their knees before Thorin. He didn't acknowledge them, only continued to stare at Thranduil as the names tumbled from his lips.

"What is this?" he demanded of the two. "What is he saying? What are these names? He does nothing but repeat them day in and day out. What does it _mean?_"

As he listened to his king's words, Dwalin's expression grew to match Thorin's in anger and intensity, and all he did was growl at the elf king. Balin's expression, on the other hand, grew saddened…heartbroken, even. Closing his eyes, he shook his head slowly.

"This list…these are the names of the children who perished during our years of wandering."

"Babes," Dwalin spat. "Little dwarflings who never hurt anyone."

"But…the dragon…surely-"

"No," Balin interrupted, shaking his head again. "Many children died when the mountain fell, but these are none of them. These children died on the road…of hunger and sickness…of peril…orc raids."

"Nuri…Zevi…Ari…Garin…Zel…Neri…Risling…Bila…"

"For so many generations, we have been mighty…and we could not protect our own children. We could not ease their suffering…could not fill their empty bellies," the old dwarf said, eyes glistening with old sorrow.

"Nwalin…Vili…Farin…Nes…Tiri…Therin…Kem…Reni…Valin… "

"You turned us away like lepers, elf king, forcing us to wander the Wild as refugees. The bones of those babes lie scattered across the Wild, buried in shallow graves…as we were unable to give them proper stone burials," Balin said. He was actually weeping now, tears pouring silently down his face.

"Shiri…Ravi…Adah…Ebba…Duri…Dara…Galin…Threya…Hadar …Gili…"

"Perhaps we _do_ gain our vengeance…and perhaps we _do_ return to what we once were…but even so, there is no peace for those children…for they were killed not by a dragon, not by war…but by a heartless and indifferent world…a world that cared not that they were only children," the old dwarf continued, the accusation in Thorin's and Dwalin's voices also finding purchase in his words.

"Hidassa…Imri…Hila…Kaz…Miri…Nahal…Nava and Nara…Tirin…Ofur…Raiza…"

"My own two precious daughters died during that dark time…and I grieve for them even now. They are with me every day…but Thorin carries the weight of each one of them. Each child has a story and he remembers them all. Whenever our instruments come out, be the music joyous or mournful, he will always play a song for them on his harp…those children who died so needlessly. Thorin carries each one as a scar upon his heart."

"Lifur…Razi…Timbur…Jhani…Toin…Zavad…Dagmar…Drun…Ge fion…Isli…"

"Not to risk the lives of your people against the rage of a dragon, we can understand that…forgive it, even…but not to help our children, when it was within your power to stop their suffering…that is something that can _never_ be forgiven."

"Gunda…Halle and Kalle…Lis…Sanna…Kesi…Siv…Turi."

Thranduil said nothing in the silence that followed the last child's name. There was nothing _to_ say. While the two dwarves had been talking, the exiled king's eyes had turned from anger to sorrow, growing more and more bloodshot with the effort of not weeping. With each name he'd uttered, his voice had grown tighter with the struggle. Thorin was now very near the edge…and Thranduil found he did not care. He could not bring himself to exploit this weakness now.

Thranduil had never liked dwarves, even in the days when there had been a tenuous peace between his people and the dwarves of Erebor. His own memory was long, much longer than any dwarf's…and he remembered the hatred his father's kin had had for the dwarves who had slain the king of Doriath. Dwarves were grasping, greedy little creatures, not all that different from orcs in the elven racial memory. He had never thought of dwarves as decent folk…as children…_babies._ It had been long since his own dear son was an infant, but he still remembered the feelings of protectiveness…of perfect love and absolute adoration. He still remembered holding Legolas as a baby, remembered tiny fingers curling around his own large one and understanding just how helpless this smallest of creatures was…understanding that he would depend on him for absolutely everything until he was old enough to take care of himself. If he had been unable to protect Legolas…if he'd lost that tiny, precious light to darkness…darkness that could have been stopped…

"Take them away," Thranduil finally ordered the guards, which they did, leaving him alone with Thorin, feeling nearly as on edge as he clearly was.

"It doesn't matter, you know…if you _think_ you understand," Thorin finally spoke. "It's too late to change any of it. Nothing will bring them back. You elves don't understand death. It's like a bad dream for you…a children's story…but the rest of us have to deal with it. I have died with them…each one…a thousand times. How many of your own people have _you_ died with, Thranduil? I will never forget…and I will _never_ forgive."

Thranduil felt struck by these words…felt the weight of guilt in his heart, but he couldn't bring himself to tell Thorin that, so he turned from him, leaving him alone in the chamber…alone with his memories.

What Balin had said was true. Thorin remembered each child. He had been young himself in the wandering days…and he remembered feeling so helpless…powerless to protect his own people. He was useless as a prince…as a _dwarf._

Zevi was a little boy with dark hair and green eyes, eyes full of mischief and curiosity, and a little on the heavyset side. He was six.

_The dwarfling runs into camp complaining that his stomach hurts. Oin does everything he can, but when he shows him the plant he's eaten, the healer knows there's nothing he can do. _

_His mother holds him in her arms, trying desperately to make his last moments peaceful. Zevi dies weeping. _

"_It hurts. It hurts so much."_

Thorin remembered all of them…every single face…every voice. Kem was a blond, blue-eyed little thing who loved to laugh. He wasn't very strong, but he always managed to see the good in the world. His light faded after Erebor, though. He was ten.

_Kem stops eating after their home is lost and their parents die. He's left alone with his little brother, and there's so little food to go around, he always insists his brother have his share. His brother doesn't argue; he doesn't understand. He's only three…but while he stays mostly healthy, Kem fades away to nothing._

_Thorin pleads with him…begs him to eat __**something**__…explains to him that he will die, but Kem says he knows this…and Thorin somehow gets the feeling that he __**wants**__ to die. Ten years old…and he wants to give up his life. What can __**anyone**__ do against such despair?_

_Kem passes quietly…and Thorin weeps alone outside the camp the night he dies._

Threya was a young girl with red hair and green eyes that sparkled like emeralds. At thirteen, she was always underfoot and getting into everything. She was Dis' best friend.

_They are moving through the Misty Mountains when it happens. They are traversing a somewhat dangerous pass and Threya and Dis are ahead of him, playing a sort of tag game around a cart. He's about to shout a warning to them to be careful when the ledge suddenly gives way, sending the two of them tumbling out into the open air. _

_Thorin knows that he screams his sister's name, but he can't hear it. Nothing really registers in his mind…nothing but her disappearing. But then his senses return and he hears them shouting. They aren't gone! They aren't dead! _

_Father and Frerin are too far away. It's up to him. He races forward. The two dwarflings are balanced precariously on a barely-there ledge. Threya has her body pressed tightly against Dis', keeping her from tumbling off into oblivion. Dis sobs in fear as she looks up at him._

"_Brother, help us! Please!" she begs, reaching up toward him._

_He reaches for her small hand. It's only a few inches too far. The ledge won't hold much longer. He can see it breaking. No! He __**will not**__ lose his baby sister!_

_Threya seems to agree, as she pushes her friend up those last few inches. He feels the ledge shatter as his hand closes around Dis'. He almost falls himself trying to reach Threya…but then hands seize his legs and pull him back. Their fingers brush briefly…then she's gone._

"_THREYA!" Dis screams in horror._

_The little girl's scream as she plummets to the valley below remains in his ears for years after._

Nava and Nara were Balin's daughters. Twin girls with lovely brown hair and eyes. Twins were rare among their people and twin _girls_…there had been none in living memory. The two girls had been highly prized by their kin, and their mother had spent her life to get them safely out of the mountain that day. They were Balin's treasures…and they were fifteen.

_Illness sweeps the camp…a terrible sickness that leaves the sufferers coughing up their own blood, gasping for air as they die. Dwarves are typically very hardy folk, but many of the very old and the very young have already succumbed. _

_As heartbreaking as it is to see Balin weep and tear his hair at their bedside, it seems almost fitting that the twins would fall ill together. For all their shared life, they have done everything together, shared everything and confided in each other. Now it seems that they will also die together, never having truly lived. _

_Balin pleads with Nava and Nara not to die…not to leave him as their mother did, but they can fight it no longer. There is no strength left in their drained bodies. They pass within moments of each other._

_Balin's grief is terrible to behold, but it is not that which breaks the young Thorin. It is when he finds Frerin outside their cousin's tent later that night, curled in on himself and sobbing._

"_Brother…why Nava and Nara? __**Why?**__ They were babies! What did they do…to be punished like this?"_

_Feeling overcome, Thorin pulls his baby brother into his arms. Frerin is little more than a child himself…but old enough to want to be counted among the adults._

"_What did __**any**__ of us do, Nadadith? Whether or not we __**did**__ anything…all are punished."_

"_It's not right! It's not __**fair!**__" he shouts, burying his face in his older brother's chest._

"_It isn't about what's fair," he tries to soothe, holding Frerin tightly in his arms. He knows that better than most. Grandfather is nearly gone with his madness, what with all his ridiculous talk of going back to Khazad dum…and Father isn't far behind. Before long, there will be no one left to lead their people…no one but him…and he will have to be ready for the challenge, or the House of Durin will fall to ruin. _

_But for now, he tries not to think of that. For now, he just holds Frerin, trying to help him purge a little of his grief…and perhaps he's also healing himself a little bit._

Isli was a very shy child, often fading into the background, hiding behind his curtain of dark hair and peeking out at the world through startlingly bright blue eyes. He was one of the orphans of the mountain who had somehow fallen under his care. He was eight.

_The battle is fierce and Thorin is fierce right along with it, fighting against the foul orcs that have attacked their band. This is something he can do: Fight! For the first time in many years, he actually feels effective. He __**will**__ protect his people from these beasts._

"_Thorin!" he hears Dwalin shout the warning. "A pack just headed for the camp!"_

_The camp…where all those who can't fight are…where Frerin and Dis are! Father is heading their defense. It's up to him to protect the camp. Without thinking, he peels away from the fight, heading back through the trees. Dwalin and several others follow._

_They overtake their enemies as they fall upon the first tent. Several children and their caretakers…all flee in panic…all except one. Little Isli with his black hair…and a black-feathered arrow through his chest…_

"_**NO!**__" Thorin screams. The battle rages around him, but he's numb to it as he falls at Isli's side. The little boy is wheezing, coughing, struggling to breathe. Blood dribbles from his mouth …hot and red._

"_Th-Thorin…" he calls out weakly, his chest shuddering._

"_Please," he begs him as he gathers him in his arms, "__**please**__ don't die, little one."_

_He begs, even though he knows it's too late…knows there's nothing that can be done._

_**If you die…I will die with you.**_

"_Thorin…" he coughs one final time before dying in his arms. Thorin cradles him close for several moments. Then he kisses his forehead and carries him to the side. Finally, he turns back to the fight with a scream of such utter despair and rage, it causes several combatants to cower in fear. He leaps at the nearest orc with tears streaming down his face._

Halle and Kalle were brothers…much like Fili and Kili…too much. Halle had blond hair and was sixteen, while Kalle had brown hair and was eleven. Sometimes Thorin still had nightmares about his nephews meeting their fate.

_That battle lasts long into the night. Thorin and his little band of fighters manage to drive most of the orcs from the camp, but there are still pockets of resistance. A cluster of the creatures has gathered around a knot of dwarflings._

_Halle isn't anywhere near old enough to be wielding a weapon, yet he's somehow managed to get his hands on a war hammer…and has actually managed to fell a few of the orcs, fighting madly to protect his brother and the other children._

_One of them does get to him eventually, though, and as Thorin and Dwalin race to help, several of the beasts grab the boy._

"_**Nadad!**__" Kalle screams, reaching out to grab his hands._

"_Kalle!" he cries, his voice thick with fear._

_For a moment, they hold tight to each other, clinging for dear life, but then some of the others grab a hold of Kalle and their connection is broken. The look of horror in their eyes as they disappear into the seething mass of orcs is heartbreaking. It's all over in moments._

_They manage to save the other children, but Halle and Kalle do not survive._

_Kalle is dead from a blow to the back of the head. The skull is crushed and brain matter is spilling out onto Thorin's lap as he holds the little boy close, gently closing his wide, unseeing eyes. There isn't much left of Halle…and all Thorin can think is that he's glad they didn't live to see this happen to each other. Thorin wishes he could grieve for these two brave boys, but he has nothing left to give. He is empty of tears. When one of the women finally takes Kalle's small body from him, he collapses back against Dwalin, too destroyed by exhaustion and grief to remain conscious any longer._

For a long while, Thorin thought he was alone with his memories, so he allowed a few tears to escape his eyes. It was all so long ago…that time…and he had not wept for those children for many years. He had not wept for _anything_ in many years. He couldn't afford to be that weak…so he'd hardened himself against the grief, hadn't allowed it to affect him as it had when he was young…but he still remembered…and the look of fear and horror in Fili's and Kili's eyes as they were dragged away from each other…their screams…how they suffered at the hands of the elves…had brought it all rushing back, pushing a few salty drops past his control. Would he ultimately prove unable to protect his nephews…as he'd been unable to protect those children?

Suddenly, Thorin felt a pair of hands on his knees, and when he looked up to see no one there, he realized that he wasn't alone. He probably never had been. His little thief was in the room with him. Rather than feeling anger, though, he felt a small measure of comfort as he felt the hobbit rest his body against his, embracing him. As much as he could, Thorin leaned into the touch.

"I'm sorry," Bilbo's gentle voice whispered in his ear. "I'm so sorry."

Even though he couldn't see him, Thorin could still feel the weight of his body against his, could feel the warmth of his breath against his skin, and for some reason, it made him feel safe, despite the situation they were in.

"I have died with them…each one. I have died a thousand times," he said again, feeling the howl of grief that was inside him tear at its shackles. "Sometimes I feel…that there is nothing left inside me."

No words followed this, for Bilbo couldn't risk speaking too much while invisible, and he couldn't reveal himself here in the open, but words weren't really needed. Bilbo simply held him, a rock for the king in his moment of weakness and despair. Finally, Thorin rested his head against the halfling's shoulder and wept. Not quiet…not controlled…great, heaving sobs racked his body, and he didn't care who heard.

They stayed like that until the king had no more tears left, until he had completely exhausted himself of the grief he'd held back for so long. They remained like that until the elves remembered that Thorin was still there and came to untie him and lead him back to his cell. Bilbo remained near him throughout…unheard, unseen, and unfelt, but still there.

XxX


End file.
